


Stranger

by caerynlae



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Considers All Flashbacks (Up to and Including Season 5), POV Moira, POV Various, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caerynlae/pseuds/caerynlae
Summary: Various POV's exploring what they must've felt right after Oliver returns. Who is Oliver now? Why is he so cold? What happened to him?





	1. Moira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Moira, right after Oliver returns. She tries to reconcile the old and new Oliver, but the only characteristic they seem to have in common is selfishness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Generally I think Oliver's friends and family should've been more considerate and supportive when he returned. But here I try to explore what might've gone through Moira's mind right after Oliver returns home.

There is a stranger living in my home.

I gave birth to him, but after five years he is nothing like the easy going, always smiling, happy boy that I remember.

When he had me in a chokehold, yes, he did scare me. But more than that, I wonder, what did my boy have to go through to come back with reflexes like that? His remorse right after was so raw and genuine, he looked so heartbroken. And I think that is the only time I have seen a true reflection of what he feels since he has come home. At all other times he wears a mask to stop us from seeing his true emotions.

He is so quiet now. My boy used to always have a quip ready, good-natured teasing or an easy smile. This new version of him rarely speaks. And when he does, yes, there are quips, but they are not spur of the moment. It seems as if he specifically prepared them for us.

Everything he does is carefully controlled, planned and executed. My boy would have never been able of such precision. He was completely incapable of planning ahead or considering the consequences of his actions.

What happened to him? What did he have to go through to become this man?

He gets kidnapped and completely shrugs it off. Shortly after the detectives leave, my son is also gone. Tommy lingers, seems unsure and lost. I know his father would never provide comfort. So I try to be there for him. I invite him to stay for dinner and he gratefully accepts, I can see relief in his eyes. This is how we end up having dinner, all four of us like a family and I’m happy to count Tommy as a son. 

But where is my other son? He returned after we believed him dead only yesterday. He left our first dinner prematurely. And doesn’t show up at all for the second, right after he got kidnapped. Where could he possibly want to go after that? I remind myself that he was alone for five years, no one to answer to or anyone’s feelings to consider and now he is not used to being around other people. Probably prefers to be alone.

I feel anxious, after my albeit unorthodox plan to protect him failed, what will Malcolm plan next? He is still in danger and he is out there somewhere, wandering about. Uncaring that we all feel shaken and rattled at the thought that we could’ve lost him today - less than 24 hours after we had gotten him back. That’s when I decide to hire a bodyguard for him.

A week later, I realise that as far as I can tell, the only characteristic my boy and this new version of him share, is his least attractive: selfishness.

Instead of letting his bodyguard do his job, he keeps ditching him. How does my son even know how to lose an ex-army soldier so effortlessly?

When I confront his bodyguard about losing my wayward son yet again, the subject of our discussion suddenly saunters into the room, seemingly without a care in the world. As much as my boy used to cause trouble that Robert and I always had to fix, he never drove me to despair as much as this new version of him does. He ditches his bodyguard to get laid?

After all he has been through, this is still his priority in life? I know enough about my son’s previous exploits. Quite a bit more than any mother ever actually wants to know, but at least we were able to prevent most scandalous pictures from being printed. It’s a small price to pay compared to letting the whole world know what my son likes to get up to in bed, or outside of one, really. And of all the parts of him that changed, the one part that remains the same, is his love for debauchery? 

I can’t believe his audacity. I shake my head in disbelief.

It hurts my soul that he is never home for dinner. Never wants to spend any time with his family. I tried to be understanding. He was alone for five years after all. But now I had to learn that he instead chooses to spend his time with numerous women that he is not even remotely interested in, apart from the pleasure he can take from them.

Walter and Thea have gone to bed long ago. Oliver is gone again to god-knows-where. I’m alone, so I sit down and cry.


	2. Thea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea wonders what happened to Oliver and why he doesn't really want to reconnect with her.

“Have you seen his scars?” It has been bothering me all day, so I can’t help but blurt it out as soon as Mum and I settle down for our movie night.

Mum looks at me startled and from her look I can already tell what her answer will be. “No, I haven’t. I thought I told you not to bother him about them!”

She looks annoyed now, so I try to explain. “His door was half-open, so I walked in and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

I can see my mum struggling to formulate a response, there are tiny cracks in her usual steely armor. Glancing away from me, she utters so softly that I can barely make it out, “What did you see?”

I swallow, how to put into words what I saw? After trying to gather my thoughts unsuccessfully, I slowly start, trying to let my subconscious choose my words.

“I saw his back only briefly, but I saw long crisscrossing marks on his right shoulder blade.” I swallow heavily, my mind replaying the scene in detail now. “I must’ve gasped because he whirled around, quickly trying to button up a shirt.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, what could have happened to cause the scars that I saw on my brother’s skin?

Taking a deep breath, I continue. “I was so shocked, I didn’t know what I was doing before my hands were already moving. Stopping him from buttoning the shirt up. So I push the shirt back to look at his chest.”

This time as I close my eyes, tears freely leak out. My mother wraps an arm around me and pulls me closer. I can’t bear to see the look on her face, so I continue with my eyes closed. “There are two long, thick scars on his stomach. And there was a weird, circular looking one on the right half of his upper chest...Mum, what do you think happened to him there?”

I wait with bated breath, but my mother seems to be as at a loss as I am. “Sweetheart, I just don’t know.” I can tell from the sound of her voice, she is doing her best to suppress her own tears.

We continue to hold each other for a long while. Here we are, grieving for my brother who is miraculously returned to us, but who feels further away from us than ever. He should be here with us, so we could go through this together, like a family should.

Once I manage to calm down, I voice the other thought that has been bothering me. “Did you know that Oliver has tattoos?”

“What?” From the uncharacteristic response and the way she startled, I can tell that she definitely didn’t know.

“Some kind of badly drawn dragon on his back and a weird shaped star on his chest.” I try to remember more about them, but my memory is fuzzy in those parts. I was definitely more distracted by the scars. I continue, “It’s just strange, we were at the beach just a few weeks before…” I trail off, still not able to actual put a label on the horror that happened when they disappeared.

Mum sighs heavily and almost hesitantly starts, “Well, you must know by now, that your brother has not been the most responsible once he reached his teenage years.”

I can’t help but snort at that understatement of the century. I might have only been 12 at the time, but I was well aware of the stories that got printed about my brother. As if my classmates would let me forget. Their moods always drastically varying between calling him a man-whore or drooling over him themselves.

Mum hasn’t continued any further, maybe she doesn’t know what to say or not say to me. So I take pity on her. “So you figure he got them some time in between while either drunk or high or both? Probably fucking the tattooer at the same time?”

I see my mother wince and I do feel bad as soon as the words leave my mouth. That line was a bit too crass, even for me.

But I’m just so frustrated with him right now. At this point, I would prefer him drunk or high, then he might actually tell us something.

By some unspoken agreement, we realise we should leave the topic alone for now, so we finally turn our attention to the movie that started playing. 

Ultimately though, I can’t focus on it, I’m still thinking about my brother.

I used to be able to rush at him for a hug. We used to commiserate together at boring dinner functions. I used to be able to look at his face and know what he is feeling. We used to spent countless hours just being silly.

And after he was gone, I missed all of that so much.

Now he is back, or a version of him that isn’t really my brother anymore.

Instead, there is a stranger who bears a slight outward resemblance to my brother, but even his looks have changed so much! And his personality couldn’t be more different.

That stranger always holds himself perfectly poised, controlled and ready to uncoil at the slightest noise. A stranger with a mask that only shows artificial emotions that he wants us to see. A cold man that I don’t dare to just hug. Someone I don’t feel at ease around, even if I pretend I do, because who feels on edge around their own brother?

He is my brother, who I haven’t seen for 5 years, it makes sense that we need to re-learn who we are as brother and sister. But he is never home and makes no attempt to truly reconnect with me. Sure, the hōzen was a nice sentiment. But what does that sentiment matter if it isn’t followed up by some conversation or just spending time together?

Seeing his scars has made me realise that he must have gone through unspeakable horrors to become the man he is now. I can’t even see a single spark of the brother I used to know in this returned man. 

As I try to pay attention to the movie, three thoughts are relentlessly running through my head.

_Who are you now? Why do you not want anything to do with me? I don’t know how to reach you._


	3. Oliver

I awake suddenly, sitting up straight in bed. This night it’s memories of Russia that are haunting my dreams.

I sigh and wearily lie back, letting my thoughts drift to the other occupants of the manor.

I know they are disappointed in me and that I’m hurting them. But I swore before I came back, that I would not get emotionally attached to them or anyone else ever again. 

The last time I cared about someone and he died, my reaction to this was to torture another human being. And as much as I cared about Akio, it pales in comparison to the love I used to feel for Thea and Moira Queen. What would I be capable of becoming if I let myself feel those emotions again and someone harmed them? 

No, it’s better to keep a lock on those emotions. They would also just unnecessarily distract me from my mission.

Still, a part of me wants to keep their hurt to a minimum. It bothers me that I care. I had really thought I could keep myself detached. But being back home, I can’t always stop old memories from rushing at me.

Maybe I should move out. Put some distance between us. It would also make it easier to come and go from the foundry as I please. But no, it’s a bad idea that I have to abandon before it can even take shape properly. 

Oliver Queen and The Hood appeared in Starling City at the same time. Earlier or later the police will want to try to make a connection there. And for this, it is more beneficial if I’m living in the manor, where I can use the family and the staff to arrange an alibi if needed.

I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep tonight and I’m starting to feel claustrophobic in my room, even if it is larger than the apartments I’ve stayed in in Hong Kong and Russia.

I head downstairs and don’t realise that Thea is awake and sitting on a sofa in the sitting room until I enter it. I mentally curse myself, how could I let my guard down like this?

It’s this house. I never would’ve let my guard down like this while living in Russia. As I continue to berate myself, I realise that escape is now futile because Thea has discovered me.

I sigh internally and prepare to slide my best Ollie-The-Brother mask on. I didn’t realise how exhausting all these masks would be. In Russia at least, no one expected me to be anything other than efficient and ruthless, to be the monster that I am.

But still, I do my best to go through the correct motions. As far as I can tell from Thea’s reactions, I’m doing pretty well tonight.

Suddenly old memories begin resurfacing again. I try to repress them, but they are rushing at me. 

3-year old Thea, happily watching some kid series while Ollie smiles at her amusedly. 

7-year old Thea, happily singing along with some Disney movie, Ollie laughing at her antics when she stumbles over some of the words. 

12-year old Thea, some long-forgotten movie playing in the background, while Ollie tries to paint her toe nails purple and they both laugh so hysterically that the nail polish ends up basically everywhere but on the toe nails.

He remembers, Moira was most certainly not amused when she saw the outcome of that session on the sofa. He glances down at the sofa, it seems to be the same as back then and he could swear there is still a small purple stain in the corner.

That memory was from a week before the Gambit. 

I’m shocked to realise what I just allowed to happen. The shock seems to be what is needed to finally slam the box shut again. 

What am I doing? I can’t be her brother anymore. Not after everything I have done. Not after these very same hands tortured in the name of obscure government agencies and for the Russian mob.

Abruptly I get up, stopping Thea in the middle of her sentence. I can barely look at her. Quickly mumbling an excuse, I leave the room. I need to get out of this house. Maybe a few hours on the salmon ladder will clear my head.


End file.
